


Saviour

by Higgles123



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2020-03-17 09:39:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18962659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Higgles123/pseuds/Higgles123
Summary: When a young woman is brought to the aid station, can Eugene heal not only her physical wounds but her emotional ones as well?





	1. Prologue

 

_12_ _Th_ _June 1945- Zell Am See, Austria_

Eugene Roe glanced down at the young girl whose face, even in slumber, frowned in pain. Not a physical pain, but with one that went much deeper than the ugly bruises that marred her sallow skin. Her chest wheezed with each laboured breath she took. Her dark brown hair was matted and stuck to her forehead as sweat soaked her skin; her body trying to fight of the infection raging inside it. She moaned and murmured something ineligible as her head moved from side to side.

Webster and Liebgott had found her up in the mountains that morning, locked away in a cabin and brought her back with them to the aid station. Dr Parson's had quickly diagnosed the girl with pneumonia and malnutrition and decided she probably wouldn't even last the night. But despite the doctor's doubts, something inside Eugene had refused to give up. After succeeding in finding one small vein to put an IV into, he had spent the last few hours pumping fluids and penicillin into her frail body and waiting patiently for any sign that her fever might be abating.

Subconsciously, her small hand drifted to the gentle curve of her rounded stomach. Eugene watched in fascination as the baby inside wriggled and stretched, making its presence known. Fascinated, he placed his hand softly against the mound and was rewarded with a swift kick.

"You're a strong one, huh?" he whispered. "Save some of that energy for your Mama, little one. She needs it." The baby kicked again and Eugene smiled. "That's right, we're gonna get her better. Just you wait and see."


	2. Chapter One

Isabelle Montpellier awoke with a start. Her heart was pounding so fast that she thought it might burst out of her chest at any moment. She sat up and looked around, feeling panic coursing through her veins as she failed to recognise her surroundings. Her breath hitched in her throat and if she hadn't of been so distressed, she might have noticed that for the first time in weeks she could actually breathe easily without it feeling as though there was a tonne of bricks on top of her chest. But instead all she could think about was that she needed to get out of there. Wherever there was. She swung her legs off the bed and yelped when they touched the cold linoleum floor. Looking around frantically for her shoes that were seemingly nowhere to be found, she decided that she would have to just go without them. But the second she tried to stand up, her legs gave out from under her and she fell to the floor.

Suddenly a pair of hands reached out for her and lifted her up gently under the arms. Thrashing wildly, she screamed. Well, tried but it came out as more of a croak. A gentle male voice spoke to her and she found herself strangely soothed by the tone of it. There was an intense feeling in her gut that told her not to be afraid. She stopped thrashing and looked up into a pair of hazel green eyes that seemed to bore right into her soul. The man smiled reassuringly and lifted her back up onto the bed. He asked her something, but she had no idea what.

Eugene realised the girl had absolutely no clue what he was saying. It was clear she didn't understand English. Being that French was the only other language he knew, he decided it was worth a try.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," he said. She looked up at him and her mouth parted in a silent 'oh' as she realised she had understood him. His lips lifted up into a wry smile. "You speak French, huh?"

The girl nodded, but still eyed him warily.

"I'm Eugene. I'm a medic. You're with the US Army," he explained. "You're safe here."

"How-?" she tried to speak but her voice cracked. Eugene handed her a glass of water which she drank slowly. "How did I get here?"

"A few of my comrades, friends, found you up in the mountains. You were in a cabin. Do you remember?"

Isabelle remembered. She closed her eyes and wished with every fibre of her being that she didn't remember. There was so much she wished she didn't remember from the last few years. But the memories were burned into her brain, never to be forgotten.

…...

_July, 1944- France_

They came in the middle of the night, yanking her out of her bed. Wearing only a threadbare nightgown, they gave her no opportunity to change. One minute she was soundly asleep and the next she was in the street watching as they pointed a gun at her older brother, Guillame. The street was silent but she knew that behind closed doors and curtains, their neighbours were watching the scene unfold. She screamed for someone, anyone, to help but the German soldier holding onto her slapped her around the face with the butt of his gun. She tumbled to the ground as stars swam before her eyes. Merciful darkness cloaked her within seconds.

When she came to hours later, she found herself in a small cell. Despite the warm night air outside, the cell was cold and smelled of damp and mould. It was pitch dark and she could barely make out her hand in front of her face. Her head was throbbing and when she lifted a hand to it, she felt dried blood at her temple. The door to the cell squeaked open and she shielded her eyes as light seeped into the tiny space.

"You're finally awake then."

Isabelle looked up at the German and swallowed nervously. She still had no idea why she was here. Her brother. Where was he? Was he alive? She wasn't sure she believed in God, but at that moment she prayed that if he was real he would watch over her brother and keep him safe.

"Get up," the soldier ordered. "You need to come with me."

She did as she was told and followed the soldier out of the cell. They walked along a long dark corridor until they came to another room. Isabelle folded her arms across her body. Her nightgown didn't afford her much cover and she was embarrassed to be seen wearing it. At sixteen, she still wasn't entirely comfortable with the body she possessed. The soldier took her into a room where another soldier sat behind a mahogany table. This new soldier looked more authoritative. His uniform was crisp and clean. The embellishments on his shoulders told her that he was higher in rank, which scared her all the more.

"Sit," this new man demanded.

Hesitantly she pulled up the chair opposite him. She was afraid to even look at the man. There was something so intensely dangerous about him that it set her on edge immediately. His hair was balding and his nose was set a little to the side, as though it had been broken and reset once or twice in his life. But it was his eyes that stood out. They were as blue as the sea on a summer's day yet there was nothing warm about them. They were ice cold.

"Isabelle Montpellier." His German accent was thick, and her name sounded strange coming from his mouth. He smiled, although it was humourless. "You are wondering how I know your name?"

She didn't react. She didn't want him to know that she was shocked by his knowledge.

"We know a lot about you, Miss Montpellier," he sat back in his chair, and it creaked under his weight. "Or rather, we know a lot about your brother."

"Where is my brother?" she whispered. "Please tell me you haven't hurt him."

"Your brother is alive. For now," the officer answered. "But whether or not he remains that way is down to you."

"I don't understand," she frowned, feeling her chest tighten.

"Come now, don't play me for a fool," the officer narrowed his eyes at her. "Did you really think we wouldn't catch him for the traitor that he is?"

"Traitor?"

"You expect me to believe that your brother has been working with the resistance for four years and you know nothing about it?" he arched an eyebrow.

Isabelle's stomach lurched with that one sentence. Now it all made sense. When their parents had died from a sickness that had spread through the town seven years ago, Guillame had become her legal guardian. He worked for hours each day and sometimes through the night as a carpenter, providing everything for her. His one wish had always been for her to finish school and to learn everything she could in the way that he had never been able to. He had left school at ten to learn his trade. And while it had always served him well enough, he wished he'd had the opportunity to learn more than basic maths and reading. When the Germans invaded their beloved country, he began working later or sometimes he would be away for days. He always told her that the Germans were using his services and that it was better to keep them on side. How could she have been so naïve and so gullible? She had always believed him without question. But now, she wondered how the idea of him working for the resistance hadn't ever crossed her mind before.

"I am going to make you one offer now," the officer said. She didn't know whether he had noticed the conflicting emotions upon her face, but his own face showed no reaction. "If you tell me everything you know about your brother and his _friends_ then I will allow him to live."

"But I don't know anything," she answered, her heart thudding against her chest.

"Think carefully, Miss Montpellier. My mercy is not infinite, and you would be wise to take it while you can."

Isabelle couldn't breathe. She couldn't tell them anything, yet if she didn't her brother was going to die.

"Please," she begged, her bottom lip wobbling. "I know nothing. I can't help you."

"Then I cannot help your brother." He stood and headed towards the door.

"I'm begging you," she sobbed, clasping her hands together to her chest. "Please. Don't hurt my brother. He's all I have."

"I know. Which is why I have offered this deal, yet you refuse to cooperate. I will ask you one more time to tell me everything you know."

"Please," she whispered pathetically, as tears of desperation took hold of her. "I swear to you that I know nothing."

The officer stared at her as though she was a bug in the grass, and he wanted nothing more than to stand on her and eliminate her. Her tears disgusted him. Yet in the same breath they gave him an odd sense of satisfaction.

"Take her away."

…

_Zell Am See, Austria_

The girl's face radiated a pain that tore at Eugene. A tear slid out from the corner of one of her eyes. It trailed pitifully down her face. She opened her eyes and her dark ones met his own. There were many unshed tears brimming to the surface, but she blinked them away. She had cried enough over the years. She would cry no more.

"You need to eat," Eugene decided.

"I'm not hungry," she shook her head.

"Your baby needs food," he said.

At the mention of the life growing inside her, she felt herself grow bitter and cold.

"I said I'm not hungry."

Isabelle knew that the American must have thought terribly of her. What kind of a mother didn't care about ensuring her unborn child and was healthy and nourished? But he didn't know. He had no clue about her life and the things she had been through. The baby growing inside her only served as a constant and painful reminder. The baby growing inside her wasn't made with love. It was the result of two years of hell.

Lying down her bed, she curled up into the foetal position and closed her eyes. She didn't want to remember. She didn't want to feel. She just wanted to forget.

But even in sleep, she couldn't forget.

_They lined Guillame and three others up against the wall of the courtyard. She recognised the others. Two men and a woman not much older than herself. They were friends of her brother's. People she had known her entire life. The sun was high and there was barely a cloud in the sky. Still in her nightgown, Isabelle felt the material press against her thighs as a warm breeze whipped through the air._

_She met her brother's gaze and her knees threatened to buckle. They would have had it not been for the bruising hand holding onto her arm. The desperation she felt at being unable to help Guillame consumed every fibre of her being. She felt as though she was swimming through thick, sticky mud. Her limbs were heavy. Guillame smiled at her. His eyes told her that he loved her and he always would. They told her to be brave, to carry on without him and to be strong. How could she? She wasn't brave. If she was, she might have tried harder to save her brother. She might have fabricated a story, any story, to help free him. He was about to die and it was her fault. And even though he knew his time had come, he still thought only of her. Of making sure that she would continue to live without him._

" _I love you," she mouthed as the prisoners were shoved to their knees. Their hands were already tied up behind their backs. As tears fell down her face, the thing that struck Isabelle was the grace with which her brother and his friends behaved. They didn't fight, shout or struggle. They knew their fate was sealed and wanted to go with dignity. Through her grief, she felt a strange sense of pride. She could never hope to be so strong._

" _I love you too," her brother mouthed back, seconds before a blindfold was secured around his eyes._

_Isabelle could feel the German officer beside her. She didn't need to look at him to see the satisfaction on his face. It radiated from his very being._

_The soldiers behind the prisoners cocked their weapons. Isabelle couldn't breathe. Her ears made a swishing noise as they pounded furiously. She didn't see the officer give the signal. She didn't hear the bullets ring out. All she saw was her brother lying on the dirty floor, blood pouring out from his head._

_Someone was screaming. Was it her? She couldn't be sure. She fell to her knees and sobbed. She couldn't stand to look at the bloodied corpse of her brother, yet her eyes wouldn't leave him. She retched and vomited all over herself and the floor. Her stomach was empty and it was nothing more than bile, yet the burning in her throat felt like a physical manifestation of her grief._

_The German officer watched the young girl with disdain and fascination. She was rather beautiful. Her chestnut hair was long and tumbled in glorious waves down her back. In the sunlight, it shimmered with shades of auburn. Her eyes were dark and round, with long eyelashes framing them. Her skin was pale and looked soft to touch, and the thin nightgown she wore did little to conceal the young, luscious body beneath it. He felt himself grow hard beneath the confines of his tight trousers. He had always had thing for younger women. And this one was no different. But for some reason he didn't think she would succumb easily. Cracking his knuckles, he smirked to himself. He liked a challenge._


	3. Chapter Two

 

_France, 1944_

   _Two days she had been holed up inside the cell. Caged with her grief. Her throat was raw from crying and the never-ending stream of tears had dried up leaving her eyes puffy and sore. She welcomed the pain. She craved it. When the door to the cell opened once more, she was greeted by a face that had become all too familiar._

_The German officer who had been in charge of guarding her cell set the plate of cheese and stale bread down in front of her, just as he done yesterday and the day before. She barely acknowledged him. Her stomach rumbled and the soldier chuckled. She would not eat. She refused to. She would rather waste away in this cell then take anything from him, from any of them. No matter how much her body craved it._

_“You will be pleased to know you are leaving today.”_

_She looked up, her eyes wide with fear. She didn’t dare ask him what he meant. She wasn’t sure that she wanted to know._

_“But you aren’t going anywhere looking like that,” the soldier looked her up and down, his upper lip furled in disgust._

_Isabelle could only begin to imagine the state she looked. Her hair hadn’t been washed in days, neither had the rest of her. Given the tiny confines of her cell and the stifling heat outside, she could smell an unpleasant odour radiating from herself. Her once white nightgown was stained with dirt, blood and vomit._

_“Get up,” the officer ordered._

_Her legs were weak from fatigue and also from being sat down in a small space for hours upon end. She struggled to stand and she saw her captor smirk slightly as he observed her difficulty. She didn’t even have the energy to care. But then she thought about her brother and the way he had carried himself right until his end. She took a deep breath and with defiance forced herself to stand up straight and tall._

_She could have sworn she saw annoyance flash briefly through the pale green eyes, and just for a moment she felt as though she had gotten one up on him._

_He grabbed her roughly by the elbow and reluctantly she allowed him to lead her down the corridor and into a small bathroom. For two days she had been forced to relieve herself in a bucket in the corner of her cell, and the sight of a real lavatory was almost enough to bring her to tears._

_“You will wash yourself and change into the clothes left for you,” he ordered. “And don’t even think of trying to escape because I will be waiting for you right outside this door.”_

_He closed the door behind him and Isabelle was left alone again. Her feet moved of their own volition towards the neatly folded pile of clothes on the chair behind the door. Every fibre of her being wanted to take the blue cotton dress, stockings and shiny black pumps and tear them into a thousand tiny pieces. But the lure of fresh clothes was too much of a temptation. And more than that, she relished the thought of being able to wear something that wasn’t almost transparent._

_She was hesitant to remove her nightgown, lest the soldier should come back in. But when she heard the click of his lighter outside the door, she surmised that she would have at least the few minutes it would take for him to finish his cigarette._

_The bath was already drawn and she allowed her fingers to drift along the surface of the lukewarm water. She caught a glimpse of her haggard reflection and her stomach lurched. How in the space of only a few days had her life changed so dramatically?_

_After the deaths of her parents, the only thing that had gotten her through it was that she had Guillame. But even he had left her. Climbing into the tepid water, a myriad of thoughts and feelings flew through her head._

_Sadness that she was now all alone in the world. Despair at what her life would now become. Anger. Anger at Guillame and her parents for leaving her. Guilt that she hadn’t done more to save them. Guilt that she was alive and they weren’t._

_How easy would it be to sink under that water and stay there until she felt nothing anymore? But it turned out that the girl who was too much of a coward to try and save her brother was too much of a coward to save herself as well._

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

_Zell Am See, Austria- 17 th June 1945_

The pains started in the middle of the night. At first they were barely noticeable, but with each passing hour they grew more and more intense. She knew that the medic, Eugene, was nearby. He had never left the hospital for more than a few minutes during the entire time she had been here. She hated to admit that his presence comforted her. They had hardly spoken more than a few words to one another, yet there was something about his very essence that soothed her. Something that went far beyond the soft and melodic tone of his voice. It was something that radiated out from his soul.

The sun was starting to rise in the sky, peeking through the window with the promise of another day when there was a gush between her legs, and the mattress beneath her was soaked. She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, and then doubled over as another pain tore through her still weakened body.

“I’ve got you,” Eugene murmured, kneeling down in front of her. “You’re alright.”

She looked up into his kind face and her bottom lip trembled. She was terrified of what was coming.

“I’m just gonna go and get the doctor,” he told her.

“No,” she grasped his arm desperately, her nails digging into his skin. “Don’t leave me.”

“I’ll be two minutes,” he smiled, patting her hand. “And then I promise I won’t leave you again. I’ll be with you right until the end.”

Eugene waited for her to nod hesitantly before he stood up and ran to the door. When he found Dr Parsons, the man shrugged and took a drag on the cigarette dangling out of his mouth.

“What are you telling me for? I’m a doctor, not a midwife,” he carried on scouring the pages of his newspaper. “Go into the town and I’m sure you can find someone to assist you.”

Eugene clenched his jaw angrily. Running hurriedly across the street, he grabbed the first person he could find, which just happened to be Major Winters.

“Sir, I need your help,” he panted. “The girl in the hospital is having her baby and I need a midwife urgently.”

“Where’s Dr Parsons?”

“He’s, uh, busy Sir,” Eugene lied. “Please can you find someone? I don’t know anything about delivering babies I’m afraid.”

“I’ll send someone into town,” Winters answered. “I don’t know how long it will take, but will you manage on your own for now?”

“Yes Sir,” Eugene nodded. “Thank you, Sir.”

When Eugene rushed through the door to the ward, he found the girl leant over the bed groaning in agony.

“Where’s the doctor?” she asked when she saw him approaching.

“He’s occupied at the moment, but someone has gone to find a midwife,” he explained. “Until then, it’s just you and me.”

“And you’ve done this before?”

“Well no,” he admitted. “But we will be fine.”

Isabelle nodded. She had complete trust in the medic, despite the fact that she barely knew him.

“I’m going to have to have a look, um, down there,” Eugene blushed. “Is that ok?”

“I don’t care,” Isabelle groaned as her uterus contracted painfully once more. She just wanted the baby out. She didn’t care who needed to look down there if meant that would happen.

Taking a deep breath, Eugene knelt down at the foot of the bed and glancing up at Isabelle nervously, he lifted up her nightdress. His eyes widened and he swallowed when he saw that the baby’s head was already crowning. His eyes flitted in panic around the room, praying that the midwife would appear out of some secret cupboard and relieve him. But that wasn’t to be.

When Isabelle began to bear down, Eugene could see the top of the baby’s head trying to force its way out before disappearing back inside once more. The usually calm Eugene was struggling not to allow panic to overtake him when he realised that he wasn’t going to be able to stop this baby coming any time soon. He knew enough to know that when the pushing started, it couldn’t be stopped.

“Isabelle,” he looked up. “I don’t think this little girl or guy wants to wait for the midwife to get here. So we’re going to have to do this alone, ok?”

She nodded, her body trying to expel the baby without her having to even think about it. Nature was taking over. Three pushes was all it took for the head to be born, and Isabelle screamed as it tore at her before the tiny, slippery body slid out and she collapsed back against the pillow.

The next few minutes were a blur for Eugene. Here was the man who had survived D-Day, gotten through Bastogne without a weapon, dealt with the unthinkable horror that was Landsberg and all without the level of adrenaline he felt right now. The squealing infant in his arms, with its scrunched up face covered in blood and mucous made Eugene feel more helpless than he had ever felt in his entire life.

Basic training back in Toccoa and Aldbourne had taught him everything he had needed to go into combat and look after his men. But he had no clue what to do with the baby. How did know if it was alright? How did he know if the mother was alright? Women died in childbirth all of the time, even with midwives who knew exactly what they were doing. Wouldn’t it be a cruel twist of fate for him to watch her die after he had already once brought her back from the brink of death?

“Isabelle,” he spoke softly, wrapping the baby up in a military issue hospital blanket. “Do you want to hold your son?”

“No,” she murmured, closing her eyes and pretending she couldn’t hear her baby’s helpless cries. How afraid must her baby boy be having left the safety and warmth of his home of nine months and been born into a cold, clinical gymnasium to a cold, clinical mother who wanted nothing more than to close her eyes and never wake up.

“We need to get that afterbirth out,” Eugene explained. “I need both hands so won’t you just hold him for a minute? I know you’re tired but-“

“-I said no,” she opened her eyes and gritted her teeth. Eugene was taken aback by venom in those dark orbs.

Before he could say anything else, the midwife burst through the door, followed by Major Winters who smiled upon seeing the baby in Eugene’s arms.

“We’re too late,” he commented, glancing at Isabelle who was being prodded and poked at by the midwife with barely a reaction. “Looks like you did a fine job, Doc.”

Eugene nodded. He had helped bring a new life, a new spirit, into the world. So why did he feel like in doing so, he had only served to kill even more of the young mother’s?


End file.
